


Soul Fingers

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [62]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, First Meetings, M/M, Musicians, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for Alternate Occupations prompt: <i>Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay +/ John Sheppard, musician AU.</i></p><p>In which John makes a well-timed visit to The Blue Lily, and gets to hear some piano playing that just might change his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul Fingers

It was Saturday night at The Blue Lily, and the place was packed. The décor didn’t look like it had changed since Prohibition, and John could well imagine the scene from back in the day, when the musical acts would be filtered through a haze of cigarette smoke and the women would be shimmying in beaded flapper dresses. Sometimes he thought it was a shame he hadn’t been born decades ago, when life seemed so much simpler. Of course he knew that wasn’t true, but the golden glow of nostalgia had a way of blurring out the bad and only highlighting the good.

He’d just moved to town, and had been scoping out the local nightlife. There was a honky-tonk joint on the outskirts that might offer some opportunities for a gig or two, once he dusted off his guitar and reacquainted himself with the oeuvre of Johnny Cash. He hadn’t had much opportunity, or inclination, to play while he was in the Air Force, but now…now he had plenty of time to indulge his passions.

Tonight he just wanted to hear some blues music, and drink something that came in a glass instead of a bottle. He ordered a Blue Moon, which was an unholy mix of moonshine, sweet tea, orange juice and sour mix. Didn’t taste half bad going down, but it hit his stomach like a fireball. To be safe he ordered some wings to go with it; he hadn’t come out to get shit-faced drinking on an empty stomach.

When the live entertainment started, there was no introduction. It didn’t stop the rousing wave of applause for the man who settled himself at the piano just left of center stage. John knew his name, because it had been on the chalkboard sign out on the sidewalk: _Rodney “Soul Fingers” McKay tonight_.

He certainly didn’t look anything like John expected. Broad-shouldered, pale-skinned, dressed casually in jeans and a faded grey t-shirt that was just a hair too tight. John was intrigued, and settled back on his stool to see what the guy had.

McKay launched into a song without addressing the audience, fingers dancing across the piano keys. He started with _Georgia On My Mind_ , a classic Ray Charles song that John supposed most people would be familiar with. It was completely instrumental; McKay didn’t sing. He also didn’t hit one wrong note, as far as John could tell. He wasn’t as familiar with the piano as he was with the guitar, but he could play both. Growing up a privileged kid in a wealthy family meant taking up an appropriate instrument, which was the piano. The guitar he’d learned on the sly.

The next song was _Sweet Home Chicago_ , and John wondered if the popular songs were just McKay’s warm-up. He was playing loose and easy, eyes closed and posture relaxed. These were songs he could obviously play in his sleep. John’s wings came and he started to eat, half turned so he could still see the stage. There were some people dancing, others singing the lyrics that McKay didn’t. He didn’t seem to mind.

There was a pause before his next song, during which the barmaid brought him a glass of something clear that might’ve been water, or just as easily could’ve been vodka. Whatever it was, McKay took a healthy swallow, stretched out his fingers, and then began to play in earnest.

John understood now why the place was so crowded.

McKay played something melancholy, and deceptively simple. John could hear the complexity in it, marveled at the man’s dexterous fingers as they alternately banged away at, and caressed, the piano keys. It wasn’t a tune John was familiar with, and he’d bet his first month’s salary at the community college that McKay was improvising, crafting something new and original right there on stage.

To John it evoked a feeling of loss, of missed opportunities. He could relate. Even more, he found he couldn’t look away from McKay’s face. There was so much intensity there, his eyes open now as he seemed to glare at the instrument under his talented fingers. Each note hit John with an almost palpable weight, and he was embarrassed to find himself nodding in time with the music.

The song stretched out a good six or seven minutes, and McKay finished to thunderous applause. He slipped off stage and out of sight, and he was replaced by a petite female vocalist in a smokily sheer black dress who did a slow, sultry version of _These Arms of Mine_.

“Is McKay going to play another set?” John asked the bartender. 

“As soon as he gets a decent drink.” The reply came from behind, and John turned to see McKay standing there, a fine sheen of sweat on his face. “Albie, hit me.”

The bartender lined up three shots of Jack Daniels on the bar, and McKay squeezed between John and the guy on the next barstool. He knocked the shots back in quick succession, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That was some damn good boogie-woogie,” John said. This close he could see how blue McKay’s eyes were, and how his mouth twisted down on one side. Good looking and talented, that was a nice combo.

McKay gave him a steady once-over. “You new around here? I’d remember that hair.”

“Just getting the lay of the land. You play here a lot?”

“Most Saturdays.”

“Guess I know where I’ll be next weekend,” John replied with a smirk. 

“Are you hitting on me?” McKay asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Because I can’t always tell.”

John’s smirk turned into a full-fledged grin. “Would it be a problem if I was?”

“If you’re drinking this citrus swill, it is. I’m deathly allergic, so don’t go trying to put moves on me, unless you feel like stabbing me with an epi pen.”

Well, that wasn’t quite the mood John was going for. Who the hell was allergic to citrus? Still, McKay hadn’t said he wasn’t interested. And now that John was no longer employed by the government, he could let himself indulge in more than just guitar playing. He made a big show of pushing his glass away.

“You rinse that mouth out, maybe we can have a conversation. Later.” McKay gave him another, more intense, once-over, and headed back to the stage. The vocalist was just wrapping up her Otis Redding cover. When she tried to leave, though, McKay stopped her and they had a whispered conversation just out of range of the microphone. She ended up staying on stage, and laying down some whisky-voiced vocals to the next song that McKay played.

_I remember the days_  
_Of just keeping time_  
_Of hanging around sleepy towns forever_  
_Back roads, empty for miles_

_Well, you can’t have a dream_  
_And cut it to fit_  
_But when I saw you I knew_  
_We’d go together, like a wink and a smile_

It should have been ridiculous, nothing with the soul and emotion of what McKay had played earlier, but he slowed it down and the singer made it sound far sexier than it had any right to. 

And when McKay looked right at John and dropped a wink, John ordered a vodka martini to chase all the citrus out of his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Rodney’s improv set at the piano inspired by pianist [Luca Sestak](https://youtu.be/NmCv6UOF22A). What I don't know about music is everything, so I apologize for any false notes. ::grins::
> 
>  **Songlist:**  
>  Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles  
> Sweet Home Chicago, Junior Parker  
> These Arms of Mine, Otis Redding  
> A Wink and A Smile, Harry Connick Jr.


End file.
